


it's shaking the sky and i'm following lightening

by venomedveins



Series: of magic & monsters [5]
Category: Spartacus Series (TV)
Genre: Angst, Dreams, F/M, Illustions to Non-Con, M/M, Sex, Smut, Violence, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-12
Updated: 2015-07-12
Packaged: 2018-04-09 00:05:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4326036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/venomedveins/pseuds/venomedveins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Agron has left for war, but Nasir is now fighting a war at home too. Who is really the hero and who is really the villain?</p>
            </blockquote>





	it's shaking the sky and i'm following lightening

**Author's Note:**

> thank you to everyone who has been so patient while i wrote this chapter. my life is ridiculously crazy right now. 
> 
> as always, thank you so much to habibinasir, whom without none of this would be possible.

It’s strange really, stepping out of the royal tents and into the open air. Sunlight bounces off the grass, glowing sharp green and gold. Children are laughing, playing on the outskirts of the now cold fire pit. There are women singing and food cooking and everyone seems to be able to cope with the fact they sent nearly all their soldiers off to battle immortal blood sucking monsters. 

Everything seems alright. Everyone has moved on, they’re living, but Nasir can’t fucking breathe. Duro is holding his elbow, a searing heat that sinks vein deep. He’s not really pushing Nasir, but guiding him forward, mouth in a grim line. The sun seems so much dimmer. The air is thick and freezing. There is an ache in between Nasir’s bare shoulder blades, and how had Nasir existed here before Agron? Was it always this bad?

He can feel Castus’ eyes on him, following him closely while Duro directs them away from Gerulf and his never ending demands. There is a heat there, a temptation that he can’t even focus on. The wound of Agron’s departure is too new, and Castus is just the salt in the skin. 

Ignoring Castus in favor of trying to follow Pietros and Duro’s conversation, Nasir doesn’t understand any of it, stomach lurching and acid billows at the back of his throat. His magic suddenly crackles and Nasir’s feet slip, a patch of wet grass. The ground rushes up towards him, and Nasir braces for the impact, only for it not to come. 

“Nasir,” Duro’s voice is soft in his ear, holding him off of his feet with both of Duro’s hands under Nasir’s armpits. Castus has Nasir’s hand, staring at him concerned, but Nasir turns away, looks up at his brother-in-law.

“You’re burning up,” Pietros hisses in Nasir’s other ear, hand against Nasir’s hip, “We need to get you back to your tent.” 

“I don’t feel very well,” Nasir whispers, stomach tightening again. He suddenly sees it, like a firework behind his eyes, and hears the growl bouncing in his skull. A tiny wolf cub growling and baring its sharp little teeth, running through the woods as another one, a large one, out runs it. Nasir hadn’t expected Agron leaving to effect the baby, but it seems to sense its father’s departure, and twists sharply again - furious. 

“Is it-“ Duro pauses for a moment, glancing guardedly up at Castus who backs up half a step, eyes narrowing. 

Nasir pulls all the strength that he has, pretends he knows how to do this, schooling his features back into calm - royal and in control. To protect everything.

"Late night," Nasir stands on his own, even if his knees are shaking. "Our prince would have his fill of me into early morning light. I fear exhaustion has gotten the best of me.”

Duro and Pietros share a look as a line of red light twists over Nasir’s shoulder, trailing down his chest, but he doesn’t notice. Instead, Nasir raises his eyes towards the sun, taking a slow deep breath. The effects of the baby have started to take over, not just the sickness but the exhaustion and never ending need to eat even though he knows he’ll be sick. 

“Let’s take you back to your tent. You can lay down,” Duro’s fingernails are sharp, claws teasing, as he pulls Nasir against his side. 

“I will escort him. Prince Duro, I believe your father wanted you at court,” Castus takes Nasir’s hand into his, trying to tug him away, only to be hip checked over by Pietros who narrows his eyes at the pirate. 

“We are fine here, thank you.”

Distantly, thunder begins to rumble, low and deep. It echoes like a giant wolf is suddenly growling, shaking the dirt under their feet. Nasir knows it’s him. It’s his magic, but he doesn’t even bother to stop it. Even as the lightning threatens along the horizon, Nasir ignores it. All he wants to do is lay down, be swallowed by the furs on his bed and his melancholy. 

“Please don’t fight.” Nasir licks his lips, mouth suddenly dry. “I’m just feeling a little tired. I’ll be okay.”

Pietros tuts next to him, fingers curling tighter around his best friend. He eases him off of Duro, pulling Nasir forward, but the prince pulls away, shaking his head slightly. He can’t show weakness, especially now that they must band together in light of both Agron and Spartacus being absent. Agron asked them all to stay behind to be the eyes and ears, and that is what Nasir intends to do. 

“We will go to court.”

“Nasir-“ Pietros tries, but the prince sends him a sharp look, looping his arm through Duro’s in retaliation. 

“We will go to court.” He repeats it with a snarl, teeth clenched, and it feels almost like Pietros can see the wolf there, the sharpening of teeth. He barely recognizes his best friend as he squares his thin shoulders and marches forward, not turning back once to make sure he is followed. He already knows he is. 

\- - - 

Donar moodily stares down at his mead, spinning the cup so the liquid sloshes dangerously close to the rim. There aren't a lot of people in the bar this early, a few of the regulars passed out on the grass, falling off the rough, makeshift benches. Donar has surprisingly never been here at this hour, but with the armies' departure, Donar doesn't feel like being anywhere else. 

Draining his wooden cup, Donar slams it down on the table, waving to the sleepy eyed bar maiden to refill him. He barely acknowledges the patron sitting down next to him, only dragged back into the present when a shoulder roughly pumps into his. 

"I am surprised to find you here, Donar," Sedullus' scarred face pulls back into a knowing grin, "Did you forget we are fighting a war?"

"I am still recovering from a wound sustained on hunting trip," Donar replies grittily, raising his arm to show a stained bandage around his waist. 

"That is unfortunate," Sedullus' eyes rove over the other man, "You were Prince Agron's first in line for many battles."

"Things change." Donar takes a long pull of his mead, eyes staring straight ahead. 

"They do. Especially now that Prince Agron has his little cunt." Sedullus comments offhandedly, shrugging slightly. 

Donar just nods, bitterly taking another swallow of his drink. No one except probably the king likes Sedullus. He's Gerulf's trained bear, used to perform, but at the slight provocation will snap his jaws around neck. 

Sedullus orders a drink, sloppily sucking down the wine, droplets falling from his beard. Donar tries not to grimace, thinking of how many times Agron has been in the same seat as the brute. Agron, who lights up like fire and burns just the same. Donar had fallen in love so long ago he can barely remember his age then. Agron went from baby fat and freckles into a giant with those same piercing green eyes and this confidence – the type that toed the line between true power and arrogance. He could walk into the room and people would turn their head. Everyone loved Agron. Everyone feared him. 

Donar always knew Agron was just experimenting on him. Would use Donar to get off and give all his love his brother. Let Donar feel his hands, his mouth on his skin, but Agron had never kissed Donar. It had been more like a hobby, something the prince let himself do to pass the time. Donar was alright with it, powered through, when Agron wouldn’t bother to look him in the eyes when Donar was on his knees, always flipped him over. 

It had gone on so long, Donar had always figured it would never stop. He was satisfied to exist for the sole purpose of being a filler for some of Agron's time. Anything from Agron was the most, the exquisite, the highest desire. Then he had come back from the hunting trip and suddenly Agron was gone. 

Nasir is beautiful. Donar knows that. He's all glittering magic and huge eyes, full mouth. He is the calm for Agron's storm. The heart the people need. He has a laugh that carries and this stupid little grin whenever Agron comes around, a hidden look and Agron is drawn there every time. Donar had watched them dancing in the firelight, the easy way Nasir’s chin had fit right against Agron’s chest. The slow curl of gold sliding between them. Nasir’s scream when Agron had been tackled by the vampire, the sound piercing the once calm, shimmering space.

He is everything and Donar hates him. He hates him for every second he makes Agron look at him like that, like he hangs the moon and fills the air with oxygen. How Agron's eyes never leave him. How they already can talk with their eyes. How Nasir will one day hold something, someone, that no one else can ever give Agron – a child, the heir he deserves. How Donar had and was satisfied with just a taste of Agron and within a moment, Nasir had stolen that and all of Agron away. 

"I do worry though,” Sedullus begins, still failing for the casual tone he’s trying for, “how safe he is with the little prince.”

“What do you mean?” Donar turns slightly, raising an eyebrow. 

“Oh nothing. I just think it odd that Agron had no intention of commitment, had refused every marriage purposely, and yet the moment that witch got his hands on him, suddenly he completely changed.” Taking a knowing drink, Sedullus turns towards Donar. “How do we even know what he did to him? We barely know anything about his magic. And now, Agron is completely enraptured by him.”

Donar thinks it over for a moment, shaking his head. “You think Nasir put a spell on Agron?”

“Yes,” Sedullus answers bluntly, “and now turns sights on Prince Duro. I saw him half carrying Nasir back to his chambers when the army was out of sight. And when they emerged, the fucking witch was wearing different clothes. Perhaps, he has filled his bed with his husband brother.”

“You speak false lies,” Donar shakes his head, though a nagging fear begins to wag in his mind. He had thought it odd, strange really, that Agron had turned so abruptly from being a cold, angry beast into a beacon of happy light around the boy. 

“I speak truths. You do not want to admit in fear that Agron is in danger,” Sedullus leans forward, “but we must act. For his sake. Find proof of Nasir’s infidelity and bring it to the king. Then see path to prince’s heart suddenly open.”

Donar contemplates it for a few minutes, going over it in his mind, trying to make sense of it. It’s a heavy burden to suddenly be laid down before him. And though Donar has no interest in the plots and war of men like Sedullus, he does care for Agron – and Agron’s well being. 

“You want me to spy on them?” Donar asks finally, “for Agron’s protection? Nothing more?”

“Of course. My main concern has been and will always be the safety of the born royal family.” 

If Sedullus’ grin is a little feral or a little too vicious, Donar pretends not to notice. 

 

\- - - 

 

They ride hard, pushing themselves and their horses, galloping over long fields and into the cover of trees. It’s harder to navigate in the woods, but the Alptra are natural born pack hunters – regardless of their animal guides – and they move together just as if they were all the same.

They make an impressive campaign, decked out in thick leather armor decorated in glinting coins and spikes, painted red. Agron sheds his royal cloak as soon as they were out of eyesight, tossing his helmet haphazardly into one of the wagons. He doesn’t want to stand out, doesn’t want to seem above his men. They are all fighting together, and among them, all have purpose and worth. It’s an idea that Gerulf would not agree with, but Agron holds true to it regardless.

It takes them past midday to finally break through the forest. It’s thick, and another forest joins it a few miles, but they must first pass a wide and entangled field overgrown with snarling barbs and vines. It slows their trek down – having to dismount and guide their horses by foot, exposing them to the summer’s unforgiving sunlight, but they must continue on if they plan to reach vampire territory the next morning.

Moving forward, Agron has just pressed his canteen to his mouth when Spartacus approaches him, smiling companionably. 

“Departure was surprisingly simple, your majesty” Spartacus notes, “and without your father’s usual boastful speech. Spirits are high.”

“I do not think he had it in him, nor would the people wish to hear it.” Agron rolls his eyes. It’s true. He had seen the faces of the mothers, the fathers, the families left behind as they left. Even Nasir’s face, though he did make strong attempt, staring at him as if he knew – as if he sensed that something horrible was going to happen. And all Agron wanted was to reach down, to reassure him that it would be okay, but he couldn’t. He had to go. 

“Your father has never been the most eloquent with words,” Spartacus’ laughter is light, half mocking and half serious. “A better warrior than speech maker.”

“He is very skilled in the art of war, if that’s what you mean, and killing.” Spartacus picks up on Agron’s tone, eyeing the prince as he worries his bottom lip between his sharp teeth. Spartacus is just about to speak, when they’re suddenly interrupted by someone pushing forward, sliding up beside the two of them.

“You look worried,” Mira frowns, reaching forward to pull the water skin from Agron’s hand, taking a drink. “What’s wrong?”

“Sorry. Mind is far away from here,” Agron replies faintly, squinting against the sun, “I fall to darker thoughts.”

“Heavy heart on loss of husband from place beside you?” Mira asks, grinning a little.She had noticed a shift in them lately, a desire to never be parted. They had been nearly inseparable as of late.. It would make sense that they miss each other, even if separated for a few hours.

“And placing him in hands not known for kindness,” Agron’s words are bitter and ominous, “especially now.”

Mira and Spartacus share a look, both in the know but unable to really put into words the type of reassurance that Agron needs. Plus, they can’t give it. There is no knowing what Gerulf has planned now that everyone is gone. There is no telling the king no whether they are there or not. 

“Duro is with him,” Mira murmurs softly, hand resting on Agron’s bicep. “They will be safer together than apart.”

“It shouldn’t be Duro,” Agron mutters angrily, “He’s fucking pregnant and I’m not even fucking there. I’m out here in this fucking forest going to slaughter- ”

“Agron,” Spartacus cuts him off, shaking his head as a group of soldiers pass by, stepping over a fallen log. “Save discussion for later time.”

Agron instantly falls silent, nodding towards the lower men, but his mouth is still twisted in a scowl. It’s not fair. He hadn’t expected it to hurt this much, leaving Nasir with tears in his eyes and their child growing. Agron doesn’t even know how long he’s going to be gone. He doesn’t even know if he’s going to be back by the time the child is born. He doesn’t fucking know and it’s killing him. 

“Your majesty,” Mira whispers, lacing her thin fingers between Agron’s, leaning her body along hers, “we will return and quickly. You will be with Nasir when it comes and hold your baby. This is not the end of your story. You know this.”

Her cheek is streaked with red painted claws, and though to anyone else she looks fierce, Agron can see the concern, the kindness. She still has the little girl inside of her, the one who used to follow Spartacus and Agron around when they were young, demanding to play and roughhouse with them.

“Your father will not last forever.” Spartacus adds on Agron’s other side, a gleam in his eyes that Agron is very familiar with. 

“You speak of treason,” Agron hisses, stooping slightly to keep his voice down and hidden from those around him.

“I speak of freeing self and people from threat,” Spartacus replies plainly, “defending the people you swore to protect when you became the high commander of this army. It is your royal duty to protect those that cannot do so.”

Agron doesn’t reply, just moves forward. He would be lying if he said the thought hadn’t crossed his mind, lingered there like a black spot – growing and growing. With Gerulf gone, things would be so much easier. He doesn’t want to be that monster. He doesn’t want to be his father, slaughtering his family to get his throne. But Agron could care less about the fucking title. All he wants is to be safe, for his child to be safe, his husband. 

\- - - 

Duro can feel the sweat pooling on the back of his hands, sticking his fingers together, dripping along his chest. The sun is blistering, glaring off the metal armor of the guards, blinding on the thick grass. There are clouds on the horizon, but nothing close enough to cast any shade on the royal party, no reprieve. He tiredly turns his eyes towards Nasir – an effort that seems to suck all of his energy. 

The princeling is sitting poised and proper, back straight and eyes calculating. There is a cup of water clutched in his hand, slightly trembling, as a bead of sweat trails down the side of his face, lines his jaw. Duro can tell he’s barely holding on. Nasir has been so sick these last few weeks, turning paler and more dark eyed as time goes on. 

Gerulf has been prattling on with Heracleo – their new asset and ally. A slur of words and ideas that Duro doesn’t bother focusing on. He’s been distracted by Nasir fidgeting across the way, dragging a small gold wolf charm over and over along the chain around his neck. He’s still glowing, pregnant and radiant as ever, if it’s a secret. It makes Duro want to make Nasir happy, to give him comfort in this hell.

Duro watches as Nasir turns his head just slightly to look at him, eyes puffy from crying but still clear. He had pretended for Nasir’s sake that when Duro has escorted him back to his tents he hadn’t heard the sobs. Agron’s departure cutting a wound that neither of them expected to be so deep.. Nasir had pulled it together quickly, washed his face, pushed back his hair. Duro wasn’t sure what had upset him more, the fact that Nasir was so heartbroken or the fact all Duro wanted to do was go in and cry with him.

“My people,” Gerulf’s voice suddenly booms and Duro watches as Castus looms closer to Nasir’s side, fingers curled on the back of his chair, close to his shoulder. If Nasir notices, he doesn’t react, only grazes his fingers along the arm of Agron’s chair - as if the man was sitting there.

“New laws are going into effect immediately in response to the attack upon our royal family,” Gerulf continues, standing up from his throne. He blocks Duro and Nasir from each other, a huge mass of furs and armor. 

“As of today, all non-born Alptra citizens must be accompanied by a guard at all times. No exceptions.” Gerulf announces, not pausing as he goes on, listing the new laws. 

“All children from the age of seven to twenty must begin weapons training and war tactics. If they already possess role as farmer or craftsman, they must split their day between training and other duties. Neither should waver and I expect the same amount of product to be produced.

All women must produce a child in one year. If the woman is infertile, she may be replaced with a whore with the tax of fifteen percent. Any man found lacking will be taken from his family and put into hard labor as he is not a man and thus, not able to run his household. Any citizens laying with ones of the same gender will be charged a hundred gold pieces for every month for a year, as they cannot produce a child.

No letters or correspondence will be allowed with the army from here on out. Any personal matters should be put on hold, as our soldiers’ minds must stay at hand. Anyone who is caught smuggling messages out of our encampment will lose a finger for every page. 

Lastly, magic is now forbidden from our lands. Anyone practicing magic or rituals not within our religious rules will be tortured and put to death.” 

Gerulf bangs his staff on the platform, producing a mighty snap. It silences the peasants’ quiet murmurs, all standing rigid with dark eyes and lined brows. When Gerulf sinks back into his seat, Duro gets a clear view of Nasir’s face. If Duro didn’t know him so well, he would think he’s calm, almost apathetic, but there is a tremble in his fingers and a glaring fear tinging his expression that clearly shows what he’s thinking. Gerulf is attacking him, forcing him into a box that he cannot escape. That puts him and the life that grows inside of him in danger. 

“Court dismissed.”

With the king’s final command, Nasir stands slowly, bowing once to his father-in-law before walking down the platform and through the crowd. He looks ever the calm and collected prince, a man that Agron would be proud of, except that Agron wouldn’t be calm at this point. He would be furious. Duro scrambles to follow him, unfortunately followed by Castus. 

They all walk quickly, creating a strange line as Nasir weaves his way through their people, some crying, some hissing whispered swears. He veers around them, blind and deaf, before sinking below the opening of his healer’s tent – the shade cool and a relief on his face. Pietros is right beside him, pressing a cup of cold water into his hand, instructing him softly but firmly to drink all of it. He has been doing so well with the sickness, but with one hour at court and suddenly Nasir feels he will expel his stomach all over the soft grass.

“For fucks sake! Just wait by the door. Where else is he going to go? The whole tent is staked to the ground!” Duro shouts at Castus as he tries to push inside, crowding his body against the door. He waits until Castus turns his back, standing guard, before rushing forward towards his brother-in-law.

“This is fucked! Agron will be furious when he gets back,” Duro snarls, half whisper half shout. Pietros instantly shushes him with a scowl. 

“If,” Nasir whispers, staring faintly down into his cup of water, “If he gets back.”

“I will leave right now. Just take a horse and go. No, fuck that. I’ll fucking run. I’ll go get them back,” Duro begins to move towards the door but Nasir is quick to grab his wrist, using all his might to tug the fuming prince back. 

“Hush! If someone overhears you,” Nasir shakes his head, lowering his voice even more, “we have to be smart about this. Smarter than everyone.”

“There has to be a way to sneak a message out to him,” Pietros whispers, “Some way.”

“Can’t you two talk in your minds?” Duro asks, “if you could reach him-”

“He’s too far away,” Nasir cuts him off, sadly shaking his head, “I can’t reach him. I’ve already tried. He cut off after three hours.”

“Agron has to be told!” Duro tries again, desperately, “I can sneak off. You can lie and say I’m in here sick.”

“Who is to say that Agron will even come back? He may say we need to respect your father’s ruling.” PIetros replies, wrapping a long arm around Nasir’s shoulders, “We can’t take reckless chances like this.”

“He will. I know my brother. He would not stand for this, especially in Nasir’s, well, his condition,” Duro’s eyes hastily move over his brother-in-law, shaking his head, “We have to try.”

It’s after a few moments that Pietros whispers softly, “We could call Jem. Use fire messages to get to the twins.”

“And do what? Have them come back and steal us away? Our place is here now.” Nasir snaps back. 

“It doesn’t have to be. We can return once the king is dead.” Pietros is trying to be helpful, even if he is words cut into Nasir more ruthless than a knife. He would never do this. Not to Agron, not to the man who had pressed his hands and his lips to Nasir’s stomach and promised a better future.

“Abandon my husband?” Nasir’s voice is dark, eyes narrowing. “How could I do that to him? I promised I would stay and wait. I made those vows.”

“Your safety and the child’s safety is more important-” Pietros starts only for Nasir’s hand to flair with fire. He instantly closes his fist over it, but his expression does not change. 

“I will not abandon him. I can’t. Have this child without him? Rob him of what is ours?” Nasir shakes his head, “I am no longer a pretty dancer, swayed by my own survival. We need to be stronger now.” Nasir is surprisingly gentle when he takes Pietros’ hand, even if his tone is still rough. “We are warriors now.”

The trio stands there in silence, the sounds from outside seeming deafening. Whiffs of juniper, spearmint, and cashmere linger in the air – medical and sharp. It would a comfort, healing, if they had an out to this fate. It seems Gerulf is finding new ways to continually fuck them over, to punish Nasir for a sin he doesn’t even remember committing. 

Nasir feels the burning itch along his nose, signaling tears are not far behind. He doesn’t know why he is so upset. He needs to stay strong, needs to not give into his raging emotions. It’s been getting worse, the mood swings. He knew Agron was leaving. He already cried so much for him. But it’s all so much and he’s so tired and looking at Duro with his scowl and wide shoulders and all Nasir wants is for Agron to be there. To wrap his arms around Nasir and tell me him everything is going to be okay. But he can’t. He can’t because he’s off fighting. And it kills Nasir. 

Duro hears the broken little sob, and when he turns back, he finds Nasir trying to stifle his tears behind his hand. Instantly, Duro crosses the few feet between them to pull Nasir against him, hugging him tightly as one of Duro’s hands caresses down Nasir’s smooth back. 

“I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. We’ll figure this out, okay? Even if I have to steal you away and hide you until he comes back,” Duro promises, “He told me not to let anything happen to you and nothing will. I swear.”

“I can follow Gerulf’s dumb rules,” Nasir sniffles, feeling Pietros pressing his cheek against the side of Nasir’s head, “It’s just the baby and the hormones. I’ll be okay.”

“We’ll keep you safe,” Pietros whispers, squeezing Nasir’s shoulders one last time before slipping away, moving to refill his water glass again. 

Duro leans away from the hug, brushing a few stray tears from Nasir’s face. He can see it now, the beauty, the strength, the fire that drew Agron in and hasn’t let him go. And Duro can’t imagine it, can’t fucking stand the thought of Nasir not being with his brother. Of Agron being gone and Duro trying to fill his space, to pretend that he is worthy of holding onto someone like this. 

He wants to say something, maybe a poetic phrase that will put Nasir’s mind at ease, but Duro has never been one for soft words. Instead, he does what he images Agron would do in a situation like this. Leaning down, Duro presses his lips gently against Nasir’s forehead, holding him carefully. 

“Your majesties!” Donar’s voice booms loud in the mostly dim and silent tent. His face is flushed and there is a cruel tilt to his mouth. 

“Donar,” Duro nods, letting his fingers ghost from Nasir’s jaw to his shoulder. 

“Your father would see you at his side, Duro,” Donar replies, eyebrows furrowed as he snarls down at Nasir, “And you can stay here.”

“You can’t speak to him like that,” Duro starts, only for Nasir’s hand to gently press to his side, shaking his head. 

“I will stay. Our people need help and I am the best to do that,” Nasir nods once, turning back towards the tent. 

“You can keep your servant with you. Duro, you are needed now.” Donar leaves no room for argument as he turns sharply from the tent.

With one last confused glance, Duro moves to follow, nodding once at Pietros and Nasir. It is not common for Donar to be so harsh, especially towards the princes. 

“There is a plot brewing,” Pietros murmurs, standing beside Nasir, both staring at the fluttering entrance of the tent, “and I’m not sure we want to be here when it comes to fruition.”

“I don’t think we have a choice now,” Nasir slowly rubs his hand down his stomach. 

\- - - 

Agron squints out at the darkening sky, clouds billowing from the west, dark and rumbling. They’ve made camp, the sun disappearing long ago, and fires burning. It’s not going to last. Agron can see lightning flashing on the horizon, a warning of the mayhem to come. It seems the storm has been picking up speed, following them across fields and woods, an omen at their back. 

There is a plate of food resting on Agron’s knee, salted meat and some sort of bread. He’s barely touched it, instead lost in the tangles of his mind. He feels wrong being here, so far from home, away from everyone. Even surrounded by his best friends, his brothers, Agron can’t settle. 

“You have the same look on your face that Nasir had when you started to ride away,” Naevia sits down on the log next to Agron, offering him a cup of wine, “I’d call you weak except I know your secret.”

“My secret?” Agron turns to look at her, her dark eyes glittering in the firelight. In a weird way, Agron has the sudden urge to reach out and touch her face, shaking it off by a familiar play of light on tan skin. 

“The big, angry wolf has been tamed,” Naevia grins slowly, delighted. “And now, you don’t know what to do with it.”

Agron just rolls his eyes, turning to look back at the fire. He doesn’t want to talk about this. In fact, he wants to go back to pretending he’s not thinking about the smooth skin on the back of Nasir’s thighs or the way he buries his laugh into Agron’s shoulder when he’s tired and reduced to giggling. 

“You’re ridiculous.”

“I remember the first time I realized it, that need, that crippling fear that if you don’t have him next to you at all times, you’ll be parted forever.” Naevia continues, “It never wanes, but you learn to deal with it.”

“Is that why you convinced your husband to sneak you into this war? Knowing that I would be furious at you for directly disobeying an order? Knowing I would send you back?” Agron snarks, turning back to the woman. “You were supposed to stay behind.”

“And do what? Melitta has Yasmina. She’ll be already for a few days. My place is here, defending our people and you.”

“You were needed at home, not here,” Agron’s voice does not lighten, “There are people there that need you. You have skills outside of the battlefield.”

“Like who- Oh.” Naevia frowns, pressing her shoulder against Agron’s to quiet her down. “Is this about, you know, the little surprise guest?”

“If you expect me to apologize, I’m not going to.” Agron doesn’t look at her, twisting his cup around and around in his hand, “You are a good warrior, but you have something else, you know other things, that are necessary right now. I need you there.”

“What do you think is going to happen, Agron?” Naevia asks gently, “Do you think you’re not coming back?”

“This is his first child, Naevia. Our first child. It wasn’t like we planned on this. Fuck, he didn’t even tell me until a month after,” Agron sighs miserably, “If I don’t come back or this takes too long, he’s going to have to have the baby without me. I can’t trust anyone there.”

“You wanted me there to make sure he got through it all,” Naevia suddenly has a rush of guilt. She hadn’t even realized. It all makes sense now. She hadn’t even thought of it. 

“You’ve had a baby. You know what to expect and can walk him through it. Nasir is always sick and he’s so tired all the time, and I’m fucking useless with this,” Agron mutters, sliding his hands down his face, “I can kill a man with my bare hands, while blind folded, but he’s miserable and I just fucking leave?”

“No one knows what to expect, Agron. Crixus was a fucking mess. He was convinced the baby was going to come and hate him. I could walk across the room and he would frantically chase after me, didn’t’ want me to get hurt,” Naevia shakes her head, laughing a little. “You can’t plan for these types of things.”

Agron can see Tove stumbling towards him, eyeing the sky wearily. The storm is picking up, wind whipping through the tents and small campfires. They’re going to need to turn in soon if they don’t want to get washed away in the rain. 

“Storm is fucking unnatural,” Tove shouts over a clash of thunder, “Like the fucking gods themselves called it in.”

“It will pass,” Agron replies, shaking his head. It does feel not right, a static charge to it that makes the twisting guilt in his chest turn – missing Nasir cruelly. 

“Perhaps your boy created it, so sad to see you gone from his bed that he forced the whole sky to cry about it,” A soldier nearby laughs loudly, turning to stumble away when Agron’s expression doesn’t lighten. 

He wonders for just a moment if it’s possible. Nasir has created rain before. It was easy for him. Was this part of Nasir’s magic? Was he trying to tell Agron something? Is that why the very flash of lightning sends a charge down Agron’s back? There is no way of telling, but wherever Nasir is right now, Agron prays he is safe. 

“I’ll return,” Naevia whispers to Agron, placing her hand on his arm, “I’ll protect your family and mine.”

Agron curls his fingers around hers, squeezing them gently. He doesn’t really have the words to say what he wants, but he hopes that the gesture suffices. She seems to get it as she bumps him with her shoulder, smiling a little. 

“You’ve gotta get home though. Nasir ain’t gonna be able to raise a little wolf cub without you.” Naevia grins, “What’s he gonna do when that little babe bares it’s teeth for the first time?”

“Probably make it little flowers until it’s happy,” Agron can’t keep the grin off his face. 

“You have to be around though,” Naevia shakes her head, “Teach it how to howl and hunt and transform. You’re necessary Agron. It’s scary, but it’s your baby. You already love it and you love Nasir. You’ll be alright.”

“Thanks Nae,” Agron whispers, leaning his head gently against hers. 

“Anytime,” Naevia pats his arm. She steals one of the pieces of bread off his forgotten plate, popping it in her mouth before a shadow looms above her. 

“Didn’t realize you were into women. One day away from your husband and you go after my wife?” Crixus’ growl reverberates through the small space. 

“Nah. I’m pretty sure if I tried, she’d kick my ass anyway,” Agron playfully pushes Naevia away and towards the man. 

Crixus grumbles something but happily leads his wife away. Agron tries to ignore the jealous twist in his stomach, staring moodily down at the firelight reflecting on his wedding ring. 

\- - - 

Wine flows over the table, sloshed from the pitchers clutched in a drunk maid’s hand. Gerulf lets out a boisterous laugh at her stupor, reaching out to tug the woman into his lap. Her chest heaves and she drizzles more wine into his mouth straight from the pitcher, face red and gleaming with sweat. Around him, men bang their cutlery on the long wooden table, cheering. 

Sitting on the king’s left, Heracleo leans half over the table to yank a tray from another maid, half spilling the steaming meat on the floor. The dogs at their feet chase each other for it, snarling and rolling on the floor to grab the escaped food. It sparks the rest of his pirates, all of them seeming to lose all sense as they fight over the food. 

Duro is placed on Gerulf’s right, looking princely in his crown and shimmering silver tunic. It’s clasped at the shoulders, leaving his long arms and sides open to the summer air. It’s a good distraction and block of Nasir who is placed on his other side, sitting low in his chair, picking his nails along the embroidered gold lines of his scarlet pants. 

“We’ve been called beasts before, and yet I cannot tell the difference between the sea dogs and the ones at our feet,” Duro mutters, pressing his lips nearly to Nasir’s ear to speak to him above the roar of the party. 

“One is loyal and one smells of salt and piss,” Nasir snarks back, sharing a dark look with Duro. He strokes Apep’s head, the black mamba curling its gray body along his shoulders. The snake seems to keep most of the newcomers back, eyeing him wearily for his owner. 

Castus lingers behind their chairs, fingers curling over the back of Nasir’s. He hasn’t really said anything all day while Nasir had mixed potions and tonics, hiding whispered spells into the herbs. If he had been instructed not to use his magic, Nasir would find a way to make it work slow, to ease the suffering and see loyal and thankful eyes reflected in the people – his and Agron’s people. 

It hadn’t stopped Castus from casting longing looks over Nasir’s body, lingering on his hips, his shoulders, his face. Nasir had turned around multiple times to catch Castus leering at his ass, and upon being caught, the pirate would just grin cockily, nodding his head. It was infuriating. There was a dark part of Nasir, deep inside, that made him like it. That liked the attention, the praise. But a bigger part, the brighter part that had blossomed the moment Agron had kissed him sweetly on their wedding night and promised him safety and love, that turned Castus’ attentions into sick in his stomach.

“You need to eat more, highness,” Castus’ soft voice breaths down the side of Nasir’s neck, moist and hot. “You have not even taken part in the wine.”

“I do not thirst for anything but water and my bed.” Nasir replies coolly, resolving not to turn and catch the pirate’s shining grin. Apep hisses softly against his jaw, nuzzling there to comfort Nasir, sensing his tension.

“That could be arranged. Say the word and I will be happy to take you,” Castus’ muttered remarks fall from his lips like honey and Nasir pretends not to hear, turning to Duro once more. 

“Will you escort me back to my rooms? I fear this party has extended my energy past the breaking point,” Nasir nods towards Pietros who stands across the room, holding a large bowl of grapes. He tilts his head in reply, moving towards Nasir. 

“Of course,” Duro moves to slide his chair back as Heracleo’s voice clamors above the rest. 

“My good King Gerulf, you seem to have everything. Food and wine and the warmth of the most beautiful women and boys,” Heracleo leans heavily on his forearms on the table, “and yet there is no music. No dancing. I have heard tales of dancing beauties, but not seen result.”

“You wish to be entertained?” Gerulf’s voice is wine thick and slurring.

“Are you hiding something? A jewel amongst the wolves? You must have many gifts within your land, a powerful king like you.” It’s a mockery but Gerulf is too drunk to pick up on Heracleo’s tone. 

“We do have something. Where is the boy? Agron’s harpy?” Gerulf whips his head around, eyes landing on Nasir who has just stood from his chair. “You! Come here!”

Castus’ fingers are tight on Nasir’s shoulder as he leads him forward, tripping over the random debris on the floor. Nasir tries to lean back, wants to recoil, wants Agron to break through the trees and snatch him up, steal him away. This can’t be happening. What can Gerulf possibly want now?

“Do not come to me with that creature,” Gerulf recoils as Apep hisses again, tail curved down along Nasir’s collarbones. 

With a few clicks of his tongue and a whispered phrase, Nasir coaxes the snake from around him and onto Pietros. He has to will his legs not to tremble as Gerulf looms over him, thick hand curling around the back of Nasir’s neck. It takes all his strength, all his fucking willpower, not to back up, not to show weakness. If anything, just to keep Gerulf calm. One wrong blow and everything could be lost and Nasir knows it, casually resting a hand on his stomach. 

“You are a skilled little man, are you not?” Gerulf gently curls a piece of Nasir’s hair around his finger, and the familiar action cuts deeply. How many times has Agron done the same thing?

“If you say so, your majesty,” Nasir chokes into a short bow. 

“I would have you perform for our guests,” Gerulf’s eyes take on that dangerous glint again. “Dance for them. Seduce them like you did to my son and see them beg for you like men in the desert. I would see not one man in this crowd left thirsty.”

“I-“ Nasir pauses, trying to think of what to say. How far will this go? To seduce the men, but, Gerulf can’t possibly mean what it sounds like. “I am for your son.”

“And yet he is not here and I am your king,” Gerulf laughs darkly, “Earn your keep, Pythonissam. Do what we bought you for.”

Besides Nasir, Duro stiffens and his growl is swallowed by the loud clamor of the pirates cheering. The smaller man doesn’t even get a chance to placate him, barely brushes his fingertips against Duro’s knuckles. Gerulf uses his grip on the back of Nasir’s neck to turn him, pushing him towards the center of the room. There is movement in the corner of the room and someone strikes up a drum beat, followed by a flute and the uproarious and lewd cheers of the crowd. 

From his vantage point, Nasir can see the fire reflecting on the crowd, turning teeth sharp and eyes black. They look like monsters, eager to devour the meal that Gerulf has so graciously presented to him. Nasir remembers something distantly that Mika used to say before they would dance, about how the crowd was a group of carnivores and the dancers – they were the last meal, spinning to taunt until they were snatched up.

Nasir takes a slow breath, releasing it through barely parted lips. Letting the music wash over him, he closes his eyes, trying to calm his pounding heart. He needs to take his mind away from here, find something to focus on. Nasir tries to think about Agron’s eyes, the flecks of green and his dimples when he had traced his fingers up and down Nasir’s stomach all night long. The little wrinkle between his eyebrows when he gets annoyed, not yet mad. His taste lingering all over Nasir, scenting him as his own. 

That fight they had when Nasir had lashed out, telling Agron he regretted him, but in reality, all Nasir really wanted was for Agron to stay. To stay and stay and never leave Nasir’s side ever again. And if Nasir has to sacrifice himself, let the wolves and the fucking sea beasts have him – to keep Agron safe, to keep their baby safe – then Nasir will lower himself back down. 

Rolling his hips to the side, Nasir keeps his eyes shut and prays the tears won’t come. He can be strong, he can triumph over this. He can’t shut them out forever though, having to peak through his eyelashes as he works his body over. Every step is from memory, letting the music guide him as he draws closer and then pulls away. 

Heracleo is calling to him and Nasir can feel Castus’ eyes on him. But the feeling of Agron’s arms around him in the night is stronger than anything present. Agron’s whispered I love you against Nasir’s skin. The music swells and Nasir tries to keep his magic back. It searches the crowd for his husband – his mate – but when it can’t find him, his stomach twists sharply. It seems the cub is still furious at its father’s absence too. 

“Fuck! My king, are you sure their marriage is valid? I would purchase him from you right now,” Heracleo’s voice cuts through the pain and Nasir bites his bottom lip until blood fills his mouth. 

“You will have to discuss such matters with my son when he returns victorious,” Gerulf’s drunken slurring is half obscured by the crowd of men yelling and calling to Nasir along the left wall. They reach out sweaty palms when he draws too close, reaching for his hair, his thin pants, anything on him. 

Nasir can’t find the strength to look to Duro or Pietros, spinning quickly to avoid their eyes. He can’t see the pity, the anger there. Nasir wants to fantasize about how the baby will look in Agron’s huge arms or how he’ll probably sing to the baby in his native language. Nasir’s heard Agron humming before. He is good. 

The song is coming to an end, tone picking up speed as it crescendos. That must be why Nasir doesn’t really hear the crack of the table or the shouts. But it doesn’t stop the men. There are at least a dozen who rush him, phrases crash and bizarre, half in another language. Nasir turns just as they crowd in on him, startled. He tries to back-peddle but they’ve surrounded him. 

It happens like it always seems with Nasir, suddenly and loud, as a burst of thunder breaks outside of the tent, shaking the very ground and lightning hits the dirt before Nasir’s feet. The men fall back with screams, shielding their eyes and stamping out smoldering cloaks but it does nothing to stop the flames spreading from the roof down. It’s pandemonium as women scream and men bark orders, growls interlacing. Rain pelts down through the top of the burning tent, putting out the fire pit and casting them into darkness. 

Nasir is trying to blindly stumble to the side of the tent, fingers outstretched before him, when a hand wraps firmly around his bicep, yanking him back. He turns, ready to fuck all of Gerulf’s rules and catch this person on fire, when golden yellow eyes gleam before him. One hand comes down to gently linger before Nasir’s stomach as the person pushes him forward, snarling when people jostle them, protecting the child. He breaths hot on Nasir’s neck as they nearly picks him up to get him away from the crowd. 

There is a ripping of fabric, quick and efficient, and then suddenly Duro is shoving Nasir out into the storm, hair whipping around his eyes and face. He looks half crazed and desperately like Agron.

“Go to your tent, now. I will get Pietros somewhere safe and come to you.”

His instructions are slightly slurred around large fangs protruding from his gums. Nasir nods once, brushing his fingertips on Duro’s cheek before turning. He’s yanked back a second later by Duro’s grip on his wrist. 

“Run and hide. Fucking hide. And if anyone comes into that tent that isn’t me, you kill them where they stand.”

It’s in his tone, the mirth and mischief usually in Duro’s tone completely gone as he pushes Nasir away from him. He doesn’t even look back. Duro just goes back in with a loud snarl. 

Nasir does as he’s told, weaving through the tents, slipping on the mud. He doesn’t know exactly what happened, too preoccupied with trying to please Gerulf and lose himself inside his mind, that he didn’t even notice the crowd becoming restless, dangerous. 

He manages to get to Agron’s and his tents easily enough, slipping through the door and instantly diving towards the center of the room. There aren’t many places to hide in a tent such as this, everything open. Darting to one side, Nasir manages to find a discarded dagger by where Agron usually puts his sword at night. He’s still debating a hiding spot when the flap of the tent opens and Castus comes barreling inside. 

“Your majesty! Are you alright?” Castus asks wildly, taking a moment to realize Nasir’s clutch on the blade. “You do not need that with me.”

“Go away.” Nasir tries for hard, tries for no argument, but Nasir wants to believe in Castus. He doesn’t know why, but he feels like maybe he can be trusted. A little too flirty but he must be a good man, right?

“I aim only to protect you, even if it is from my own men. I apologize for their actions. They will be severely punished when we retrieve all of them. Please, allow me to do my instructed job,” Castus bows slightly and Nasir feels his resolve waning. Castus’ eyes are so large, so genuine. 

“You must go.” Nasir shakes his head, trying not to notice the way Castus’ chest gleams with rainwater and his eyelashes are wet. 

"I would stay with you. King Gerulf commands such, and I fear to leave you alone in your state. I can either rest upon floor or within vast bed," Castus' dark eyes roam over the large space, the thick furs, "You have plenty of space."

"I-" Nasir feels his face heating up, ducking his head. Castus is attractive, he'll give him that, but Agron is an all encompassing presence. Even in the dark tent, he lingers in every corner, in every piece of their lives. Nasir can still smell him among the furs, on his own skin. His child grows inside of Nasir's body. "I would prepare a palate on the floor."

"Are you sure?" Slowly, measured, Castus takes a step towards him, grin pulling across his face. He can see the light in Nasir's eyes, dazed look as if he's imagining it. He doesn’t realize that glazed look is reserved for only one man and it’s not Castus. "There are many ways for me to protect you, to be present here for you, in this moment. I have many skills, your majesty, that I only meant to use to comfort you."

He trails his fingers alone Nasir's shoulder, brushing a strand of hair back. It's all wrong and Nasir can feel the phantom press of Agron's body against his, and it's suddenly so wrong that Castus' hand is on his neck, pulling him forward. Nasir wants to scream, wants to run, wants Agron to be there. Outside, the lightening sparks faster and thunder shakes the ground and all Nasir can think about is the two of them dancing in front of the fire, Agron's nose against Nasir's temple, his palms pressing against Nasir's lowerback.

"I can fill his space only while he is away, give you pleasure." Castus' breath ghosts across his face, sea salt, and Nasir falters. He'll never be able to fight him back, not sick like this – magic nearly depleted.

"What are you doing?" Duro's voice cuts sharp and growling as he strides across the tent, brows furrowed. He's dripping water and at first, when it was just his shadow looming behind the fire, Nasir nearly screamed – seeing a phantom Agron where Duro actually stood. It’s only wishful thinking.

"Offering words of support in troubling times," Castus steps back, but not far enough for his status and Nasir's. He toes the line between proper and non too much.

"Get out. Nasir, I would have words." Duro's honey colored eyes glowing in the tent and Nasir can see the wolf pacing there. 

"Your father requires me to rest within room with the prince, for protection. I can either take the floor or share the bed with him, whatever he feels more safe with." Castus nods his head in a mocking bow. 

Duro's scoff is all disdain, rolling his eyes as he squares his shoulders. He's never looked more like Agron, mouth pulling tight and arms flexing. He can't even imagine what Agron's reaction is going to be to this little fucking sea leech when he gets back. All it will take is Agron seeing the way Castus looks at Nasir and there will be blood. 

"You will sleep in the doorway like the sea rat that you are," Duro commands, towering over the pair. It makes an ache blossom in Nasir's chest, seeing his husband in every single one of Duro's movements, even down to the vein throbbing in his neck. He suddenly wants Duro to wrap him up in his arms, let him pretend for just a minute.

"I fear your father will not stand pleased, especially after what just transpired," Castus' eyes narrow, preparing for the fight, but Duro lets out a bitter little laugh, shaking his head. He's not going to win this. It's Duro's rank that gives him the power.

"My father will be nothing compared to my brother if he gets word you tried to lay with his husband in their marriage bed." 

“Your brother is not here.” Castus replies smartly. 

“He will be very soon.” Duro’s words are gritted through his fangs. 

Castus mouth falls open, as if he's going to rebuttal, but Nasir puts a stop to it, reaching out to gently lay his hand on his shoulder. He's learned in his time here it is not wise to provoke the royal brothers. Duro is right though. It is not proper and Nasir does not want Castus that close.

"I'm alright. You can take up a bedroll by the outside door. If I feel in danger, I will call for you."

The pirate nods curtly before stomping across the tent to the doorway. He will not be denied what Gerulf ultimately told him he could have. Nasir is teetering on the edge and Castus knows that all he really needs to do is push him a little further, just entice the pleasure out of him.

Duro waits until the pirate disappears from sight before turning to Nasir, gently cupping his face and turning it towards the light. He studies the smaller man’s expression, looking for any details as to what Nasir is thinking, before releasing him and taking a respectful step back. Duro never expected it, the love and affection he has for Nasir, but with the promise he made to Agron – how can he not? Nasir is an extension of his brother, here and present, caring the brightest gift. 

“Pietros is hidden away with Melitta and Oenomaus and little Yasmina. He will be safe there. I tried to convince my father it was a freak accident, something not spurred by magic, but I’m not too sure he believes me,” Duro sighs, rubbing his hands into his curls. 

“It’s okay. He can’t kill me. Not yet,” Nasir moves towards the bathroom, pulling the curtains shut as he strips of his soaking wet pants and changes into something dry and dark, thicker against the chill in the air. 

“So much for a painless first day,” Duro mutters darkly, turning towards the fire. He wants to get some warmth into his fingertips before going back out into the storm. He knows it’s Nasir’s magic that fuels it, but doesn’t comment. It’s not safe to tease him now. 

“It’s not like we didn’t expect the worst,” Nasir comes back out, toweling off his hair. He doesn’t want to let the fear in, the horror at what else could possibly happen now. He just wants to sleep, to sink forever into soft furs and blank dreams. 

Duro lets his eyes move over Nasir for a moment, taking in the soft curves of his body. He’s not showing yet, not really, there might be a slight curve to his stomach, nothing more. He is, however, filling out more. There is a thickness to his legs, his waist, that wasn’t there before. Duro can’t even imagine how he’s going to keep changing in the coming months. 

“Alright. Good. I’m off then. I’ll collect you in the morning for meal and court.” Duro nods once, turning to make his way around the fire pit to the door. 

Twisting his head, Nasir stares over at his huge marriage bed. How had he never noticed the size before? It felt just right when Agron and him were together inside of it, enough space to spread out and yet always be touching. Now though, it seems like a huge fortress, a never ending field of pain and loneliness. 

“Duro!” Nasir turns desperately, catching the prince half in and half out of his tent, storm booming loudly. 

Duro doesn’t say anything when he turns, but his eyes are guarded, calculating. 

“I’m sorry. I just-“ Nasir freezes, praying it doesn’t come out wrong when he makes his plea. “Stay.”

“You know I can’t do that,” Duro replies gently, shaking his dripping curls, “Think of how it looks.”

“Of course,” Nasir shakes his head. 

He doesn’t notice the other prince lingering as he pulls a random blanket over from the floor and a throw pillow, tossing them close to the fire. Nasir can’t do it. He can’t just lay in their bed like everything is okay. He’d rather stay on the floor, on the ground next to the fire. It feels like a betrayal to lay in their bed without Agron nearby. 

“What are you doing? You can’t sleep on the floor,” Duro steps back into the tent. 

“I can’t sleep in there. Not without him.” Nasir slips down, pillowing his head on his curled arm, pretending there aren’t tears leaking out of the corner of his eyes and getting lost in his hair. 

Duro thinks about the pain in Agron’s words, the effort it took to give Nasir to Duro incase anything happened to him. How Agron had faltered, even the idea killing him more than any vampire ever could. Agron had made Duro promise that nothing would happen, that he would take Nasir as his own. And though it hurts, partly from Agron’s begging and Auctus’ gleaming memory, Duro finds himself crouching down and pulling Nasir into his arms. 

Nasir doesn’t protest as Duro walks them towards the bed, gently laying his brother-in-law down before crawling in after him. It feels weird to be sharing a bed like this, not sure how close to lay, but Nasir rolls over to face Duro and gently grasps his hands. They’re close enough that their breath mingles between them, covered in different furs but knees brushing. 

“You know, I know how you feel right now.” Nasir whispers, long eyelashes a smudge on his cheeks as he stares at their joint hands, “The loyalty you have to your older brother, the type that hurts you, but the idea of not doing everything you can for him being unimaginable.”

“Are you very close with the twins?” Duro murmurs back, dragging his thumb across Nasir’s knuckles. 

“Pietros and I are closer. We’re not related by blood,” Nasir explains, “but our mothers were best friends before-“ His pause gives their ending away. 

“Agron was the first person I saw when I was born. The first to hold me. My mother was so sick afterwards and Agron was tasked with taking care of me when the medics worked on her.” Duro confesses, “I don’t have a single happy memory without him in it.”

“Pietros and I did everything together, from the very moment I was born. I was there when he did his first dance, the first burst of his magic. I held his face against my chest when they came for our mothers so he wouldn’t have to see,” Nasir raises his eyes slowly to Duro’s, “to see the blood and the screaming.”

Nasir can still see her, his mother, knees pressed into the mud. Her hair in the man’s fist and she was screaming at him to run, to go, but he couldn’t. He was stuck, pressing Pietros’ crying face to his chest, so tight he was afraid he was suffocating him. Nasir had just stood there, watched the blade slide along her beautiful, tan neck. The blood that had stained the front of her dress, ruining the indigo shade. 

“You sacrificed a lot for him,” Duro’s remark isn’t a question. 

“He was always such a late bloomer, so hesitant. I let others take me, buy me to spare him for as long as I could. It wasn’t enough though in the end. Eventually he had to help make money too.” Nasir’s small smile isn’t all bitter. “I came with him the first time, coaxed him through it, helped bandage him up afterwards.”

“Agron is very much the same,” Duro tone shakes as he explains, “My father is a cruel man. He expects things from us, from Agron, that we couldn’t always do. Agron took every hit, every blow. He would hide me away in this hollow tree in the forest when father was very angry. Sometimes he wouldn’t come back for me for hours, but I always could tell what happened. He’d be covered in bruises, bleeding, but he’d make up these dumb games and try to hide it all from me.”

“Your brother is a very good man,” Nasir whispers, fingers tightening between Duro’s. 

“He is.” Duro nods, “But he is better with you.”

“I am too.” Nasir lets the tears leak out, closing his eyes when Duro presses his lips to Nasir’s forehead. 

“Go to sleep, little brother. Tomorrow the sun will come out and we will face it together.”

 

\- - - 

The blood barely has a chance to stick as the last head goes flying, the screaming hiss cut off short. They happened upon a small scout of vampires lingering along the border, nothing Spartacus, Crixus, and Agron couldn’t take on. It was a brutal but quick battle, the immortals all fangs and nails while the Alptra men barely had to half shift before death was there to aid them. They could count it merely as a warm up for what is to come later.

They truck back to camp victorious, but exhausted. The storm has not slowed, if anything gaining momentum, and it weighs heavy on all the men. Agron had tried to push it out of his mind, Tove’s offhanded comment, but the more severe the storm grows, the more Agron begins to suspect that it isn’t natural. He doesn’t want to think about it though, can only imagine what would cause someone to call this type of storm. 

There is a metallic taste lingering in Agron’s mouth, blood under his fingernails, as he finally slips into his tent. He barely gives Spartacus a grunt before he starts stripping out of his clothes, crashing to his bed completely naked. Their cots are far enough apart that Agron doesn’t really pay it much mind. It’s not like that haven’t seen each other in the barest state before. Modesty is not something that a soldier’s life allows. 

Pressing his head deeply into the pillows, Agron blinks blearily at his palm, staring at the congealed crimson around his wedding band. The runes along the gold seem to burn brighter for a moment, a lick of flame across them. It’s a bitter reminder of Nasir, the fire that seems to fill him, engorge itself on caressing every inch of Nasir’s skin. If Agron focuses hard enough, he can just faintly taste the heat on his tongue when he had kissed his fill of Nasir’s full mouth. It warms him down to his bones and before Agron can realize or fight it, he’s being pulled deep into sleep. 

The first thing Agron notices is the sweet smell of floral and spice, filling his nose and throat as he slowly opens his eyes. Above him, stars blink in and out of focus in a violet sky, turning indigo at the horizon. Agron can feel grass tickling along his back, soft and gentle as he shifts, getting his bearings. He’s lying on his back in a small meadow, nothing recognizable around him, but somehow the idea doesn’t alert him. He’s distantly aware that he’s still naked when he sits up, looking around. 

Tall trees surround him, looming high above with shimmering green leaves. It seems this whole world is covered in tiny flecks of metallic, shimmering even without a moon. It’s completely free of any animal noises, not soft callings of birds or rustling, and yet there is something. Agron can’t put his finger on it as he stands, glancing around for some indication of where he is and why. 

There is a path of gold dust in front of him, leads straight up to his feet but not behind him – as if it were placed there just for him. It’s soft like newly turned soil on the soles of his feet, and Agron doesn’t know why, can’t explain it really, as he steps forward, following it through the arching trees. 

It seems the whole world is sighing, plants and flowers leaning to brush his skin as he makes his way forward. Agron lets his fingertips linger out to the sides, caressing oddly smooth bark and plants that leave their glitter on his hands. They mark him, touch him and leave stains, and Agron doesn’t mind, just continues forward. There is something so familiar about this place, Agron can’t place it, but he knows this place. He knows who is here. 

The path isn’t very long, curving around until Agron abruptly comes upon a thick wall of vines, spiraling down from the very tops of the trees to the ground, digging their roots in deep. The moment he gets close enough, the small buds running along the green open, purple and white flowers uncurling. The move on their own accord, raising to wrap around Agron’s body. The strands of foliage caress across Agron’s shoulders, his waist, his arms, until they begin to tug, pulling Agron through them. 

They let go when they deposit him back on the path, but instead of dust, it seems the gold has solidified into smooth stone. It curves up a small incline to seamlessly join walls and a domed ceiling. Centered in the middle of a large clearing, a golden temple sits. It has steep sides, curled towers on each side, and dark windows. Agron can see only one door, a large red one that is covered in thick etchings, deeply carved into what looks like metal. 

Before he really comprehends, Agron is suddenly there before it, lifting the heavy latch and pushing it back, casting the door open. The inside of the temple is incredibly cool, dark shadows lingering behind everywhere the candlelight can’t reach. Agron can’t make out the floor, but proceeds like he’s memorized the place, trusting the ground will not just give out. 

Walking forward leads him to another curtain, this time made of thin white gauze that billows along the gold, barely kissing the glittering surface. Agron reaches up a hand to touch it, feel the soft threads, but the moment he does, they pull back, exposing the inner chamber. 

It’s the same color as the rest. A glittering gold that seems bright and extravagant illuminated by the candles glow. The floor extends a few feet before Agron before abruptly ending, instead giving away to a large pool. The water seems fairly deep, incredibly clear and still. It appears a shimmering yellow as well as the water reflects the bottom. 

In the very center of the large rectangle sits a raised platform, a few feet by a few feet. Perched on top, a man sits with his back arched, delicately resting one foot in the water while his other leg crosses at the knee, hiding his lap through it is apparent he is naked. Curled around his shoulders and down along his chest is a large snake, half intertwined with his long hair. It’s a violent crimson with hood expanded, fangs exposed when he spots the new comer. The cobra’s hiss seems to wake the man who slowly open his eyes. 

“Nasir,” Agron is all breath, a deep ache in his chest seeming to unfurl as the man smiles slowly at him. 

“My love.” If Nasir’s words are slightly slurred by too sharp canines, Agron doesn’t notice, lingering forward at the edge of the water. 

It all seems to make sense now. The smell that permeates the air isn’t just familiar – it’s Nasir. Everything from the gold to the jasmine vines to the snake slowly slipping down Nasir’s outstretched hand and into the water. It doesn’t even cause a ripple, instead seeming to melt into gold liquid that sinks deeper and deeper until it joins the floor. 

“What is this place?” Agron takes a moment to look around. The ceiling is a swirling dome of stars, blinking light as if they are the very ones in Agron had seen in the sky. No matter how beautiful the setting, Agron’s gaze can’t seem to leave Nasir for very long, instantly drawn back as Nasir uncurls his legs. 

“You are inside of me,” Nasir explains simply, “Drawn into my head, my magic.”

“Am I dreaming?” Agron asks, watching closely as Nasir sinks into the water, walking a few steps over until he’s waist deep in liquid gold and staring up at Agron prettily. 

“Yes,” Nasir confirms, dripping fingers wrapping around Agron’s ankle loosely. “This is our shared place, our secret haven.”

“It is not real. Just born out of necessity and the distance.” Agron finds himself crouching down until he’s even with Nasir. 

“A fleeting moment,” Nasir confirms, breathlessly as he watches Agron’s eyes twinkling the light like a dozen shards of glass. 

“Let’s not waste it then.” 

His hand is so warm on the back of Nasir’s neck, drawing him up and forward so Agron can seal their lips together. The kiss doesn’t have a chance of beginning gentle. Agron’s teeth are sharp as they drag along Nasir’s top lip, opening him up to taste him. It feels too warm to be natural, Nasir gasping as he raises on his toes to slip his fingers through Agron’s soft hair, pulling him closer. He knows it’s not real, but Agron feels so solid under his hands and Nasir can pretend, can let this be their reality for right now. 

Pulling back just long enough to slip into the water with him, Agron uses the water’s weightlessness to slide his hands down Nasir’s back, across his ass to grip his thighs and lift him into the air. Nasir wraps his legs around him as if it’s second nature, using the gained height to loop his hands over Agron’s shoulders, tracing light fingertips along his spine. 

It raises goosebumps on Agron’s skin, dragging his mouth from Nasir’s to his jaw. He bites the skin gently, laving his tongue along it until he reaches Nasir’s long neck. The skin is so thin here, easy for Agron to drag his canines along, bring up the color and bruise Nasir crimson and purple. It brings the perfect little breathy moans from Nasir’s throat and across Agron’s ear. Agron does it again just to hear it, Nasir’s legs unconsciously tightening around Agron’s waist. 

Nasir leans back in Agron’s grap, using the water to his advantage as he moves his mouth along Agron’s chest. The muscle under his lips is hard but the skin is soft and Nasir laves his tongue over it before taking inspiration from Agron himself. His teeth dent the skin easily, sharp and vicious until he hears Agron growl above him, fingers fisting in Nasir’s hair. 

He drags him back, laying Nasir back until he can slide his hands from Nasir’s hips up and along his chest. The rough heels of Agron’s hands are just enough friction on Nasir’s nipples to pull a sharp hiss from him, turning into a moan when one of Agron’s hands wraps around his neck. It’s a sharp contrast, the pad of Agron’s thumb pressing firmly to Nasir’s windpipe. It cuts Nasir’s breath in half, snapping his eyes open to stare at Agron, feral and baring teeth. 

There is a curl to his lip, growling in the still air as he lifts one of Nasir’s thighs higher, predatory. And this feast, this man that slaps one hand onto the edge of the pool for balance and laces the other in his hair, this is all Agron’s. Every whimper and whine, every shudder as Nasir tries to breathe past the firm hold Agron has on him. There is no one else and Agron knows it. 

Using his free hand to slip between his legs, Agron reaches past Nasir’s flushed cock to behind. Nasir lets out a cry when his knuckles brush against his perineum, friction and pleasure and torture all at once. Time crawls by as Agron finds him already open and loose, easy to slip two fingers in at once. It doesn’t matter how easy Nasir may seem to fill, Agron always finds him tight, always a vice that fits Agron’s cock like he was crafted just for him. 

“Agron,” Nasir moans loudly, twisting his head to the side to loosen Agron’s grip just a little, just enough to pant against the water. It sends ripples out, Nasir’s hips thrusting forward, trying to ride Agron’s fingers and skirt away. He can’t tell if he wants it slow or fast and hard. 

“Let me-“ Agron groans as he cock drags along Nasir’s thigh. He knows he’s leaking, already so fucking hard. He doesn’t want to take his time anymore. He wants him now, pumping three fingers into Nasir, twisting them until his knuckles drag along Nasir’s prostate, pulling another near scream from his throat.

“Fuck fuck fuck,” Nasir reaches forward, curling until his nails are embedded in Agron’s chest, dragging down sharply. It cuts Agron, blood pooling to the surface in splotches and when Nasir pulls back from cleaning it off, his mouth is stained crimson. 

Agron lets go of his throat long enough to yank Nasir’s head back by his hair, viciously biting into his neck. Blood wells across his tongue, hot and metallic, and Agron releases his hold when Nasir screams, dragging his tongue back and forth. He’s too enraptured by his cock dragging along where his fingers continue to move, that’s why he doesn’t realize what Nasir’s doing until the pain blooms across his shoulder. 

“Fuck babe,” Agron tries to pry Nasir back but his teeth grip harder, pain and the fucking sharpest pleasure shooting up Agron’s spine. 

He doesn’t even think, just yanks his fingers out to drag Nasir down onto his cock. It gets Nasir to release him, throwing his head back as he hisses loudly. Everything is like liquid, dripping as Agron holds Nasir’s hip and his jaw with the same pressure, probably bruising him but Nasir’s eyes are wild, eyelashes wet as his mouth falls open, flushed red across his lips, his cheeks, his neck, and chest. Agron wants to be vicious but Nasir is too tight and though he started this rough, he slows down as gravity and his hands guide Nasir further and further down until his balls nudge gently against Nasir’s ass. 

Nasir’s eyes turn glassy as Agron pauses, fingertips sliding gently caresses long sweeps up and down his back, his sides. He kisses Nasir’s open mouth sweetly, ignoring that it’s more of a press of his lips to Nasir’s bottom lip than a real proper kiss. The panted breath across Agron’s cheek is sweet as Nasir’s eyelashes flutter, arms tight around his neck. 

“Nasir?” Agron asks softly, whispering his name against his already bloody mouth. Nasir’s eyes snap to him, dark and far gone. 

He can’t speak, floating further and further from here. Pleasure turns his mind to sludge, knows that Agron is there to take him and protect him. He wants him to take it too far but Nasir knows, somewhere deep inside of him, that Agron has him – even here when nothing is impossible. 

Agron’s hips thrust forward slowly, gaining momentum when Nasir’s eyes close and he moans loud, tipping his head back. There isn’t really telling where one of them starts and the other ends so Agron doesn’t waste his time trying to figure it out. Instead, he turns all his attention into melting right into Nasir. Forcing him louder and louder and down onto his cock, and Nasir forgets all his inhibitions, instead screams and begs and scratches and cries out. 

\- - - 

Duro wakes slowly, feeling as he’s just barely gotten to sleep and unsure at first what brought him out of his dreaming until he hears it. Nasir’s small whimper, shaking enough to move the whole bed. At first, Duro feels sympathetic to him, terrorized by a nightmare, until he hears it – the click of Nasir’s throat and then a deep moan. It’s not a sound that Duro has heard from Nasir before. 

Nasir is sprawled on his back, fingers fisting the sheets around him and sweat dripping down the side of his face, his hair sticking together. He thrashes again, heels dragging along the furs as he thrusts his hips forward and cries out. A tiny flick of fire curls up from his waist and along his chest, getting lost in his hair, and Duro could ignore it, he really fucking could, except that it happens again. 

\- - - 

Nasir’s arms are framing Agron’s face, resting his elbows on his shoulders as he is lifted and slammed down. The water sloshes everywhere but Nasir doesn’t even have the mind to care. The candles in the corner are melting, wax dripping wherever as even the walls seep slowly together. It’s too hot, too fucking perfect, and Agron’s spearing him through like he’ll go all the way. 

He changes tactics easily, shoving his cock in as far as he can before grinding it roughly back and forth along Nasir’s prostate. He won’t relent, even when Nasir sobs out, fingers turning to claws in Agron’s hair. Agron wants him to get off, wants to bring him the highest pleasure isn’t satisfied until Nasir is floating beyond this higher and higher. 

\- - - 

Duro is forced to sit up when the flames start leaking down from the center of Nasir’s chest. It comes in small waves, pouring over his skin and onto the furs. Miraculously, it doesn’t catch or start to smoke, but Nasir’s cries turn louder, echoing with the thunder still raging from outside. 

He’s afraid to touch him, even when Nasir vibrates like this, hands smacking down onto the bed as he moves up, hips high as he nearly screams. It’s a fucking miracle that Castus hasn’t’ heard him, so close outside. 

\- - - 

There are growls against his throat and Nasir wants to beg, wants to scream, wants to push Agron away and ride him until he finds completion. These aren’t even options though as Agron keeps at it, keeps hitting him in all the right spots, dragging it out and bringing him close. It’s never ending. It’s everything. And Nasir knows his voice is nearly gone and his face is covered in sweat and tears but he still finds the mind to press his hiss against Agron’s own snarl. 

Agron’s hand wraps around Nasir’s cock, pumping and twisting in time with his hips. It barely takes a moment, a single breath, before Nasir screams his release against Agron’s neck. He paints up them, sticking them even more together than the sweat already has. Agron crushes his mouth to Nasir’s neck, biting over and over again as Nasir shudders in his arms. 

\- - - 

Duro isn’t sure what to do, but he knows he has to act as suddenly the fire takes a new turn. A burst of it explodes from Nasir’s chest, covering him and sweeping out along the bed and onto the floor. The heat of it completely covers Duro, not hurting but pleasure, fucking raw and poignant. It makes Duro hard instantly, cock straining up against his tunic and turning him on. He already feels close to completion and it rushes all to his head, making him dizzy. 

The flames grow higher, rushing out faster and faster, waves of it never ending. It’s bright and vicious red, yellow, and blue. His cry is even louder and the thunder rumbles can’t even contain it as his moans turn to sobs. 

\- - - 

Agron speeds up, so fucking close. He can feel his completion twisting sharp and dark at the base of his spine. Nasir hasn’t gone limp on him yet, still bouncing the best that he can as he shakes hard enough his hands slip on Agron’s body. He’s so fucking close and then sudden, everything seems to take one giant pause – stilling Nasir’s body against him. 

\- - - 

Duro swings himself across Nasir, straddling his hips down against the bed as he grips the smaller man by the shoulders. He doesn’t want to do this, but he must. If someone sees, if someone hears, they will know about Nasir’s magic and if they come in, they will assume the worst. 

With a sure grip even on the wiggling man, Duro shakes him as hard as he can, pinning him back against the bed and hissing his name loudly in Nasir’s ear. 

\- - - 

Golden chains appear out of nowhere, wrapping vicelike around Nasir’s wrists, yanking him back from his grip on Agron’s shoulders. He barely has time to open his eyes, a look of pure shock and sorrow twisting the pleasure off his face. Agron tries to pull him back but he’s immobile, numb fingers and arms.

“Nasir!” A voice echoes around the room, desperate and terrified.

“Duro no!” Nasir gasps, a breathless plea, and then suddenly he’s gone, nothing left but the empty space where he once was inside of Agron’s arms. 

\- - - 

Nasir comes to with a gasp, fire instantly gone as he sits up, nearly slamming his forehead into Duro’s in his rush. He pants in the darkness, eyes unfocused and still leaking tears, hands reaching out and finding them empty. There is an ache deep between his legs, pleasure fading away into pain when he realizes he’s awake now.

“Fuck!” Duro gasps, sitting back on his heels, making sure to avoid sitting down too much, pointedly ignoring the damp patch on the front of Nasir’s pants. 

Barely having the strength to turn his eyes up to look at Duro, Nasir deflates back against the pillows, rubbing his fingers through his hair and brushing it back from his sweaty face. He doesn’t even have the words, letting out a broken sound. 

“I-I’m sorry. There was just so much fire. I was-“ Duro hesitates before climbing off of Nasir, sitting awkwardly next to him, “I was worried.”

Nasir nods weakly, turning his head into the pillow to hide his barely swallowed back sobs. 

“Was it…” Duro pauses, unsure if he wants to know before continuing, “Did you-“

“We can connect our magic through dreaming,” Nasir whispers, voice raw, “It leaves us open, defenses down.”

Duro lets the subject drop as Nasir turns away from him, unable to keep his shuddering tears back. He wants to hug Nasir, do something, but with the breathless sobs and cries, Duro isn’t sure it’d be a welcome notion. Instead, he searches on his side of the bed until he finds it, pulling it off the floor. Kneeling up, Duro slowly spreads Agron’s cloak across Nasir’s body, tucking it around him until its close and safe. 

He then lays back, staying wide awake until he hears Nasir’s breath slow, forced into sleep by pure exhaustion alone. 

\- - - 

“Fuck!” Agron shouts, jolting awake. 

There is sweat pouring down his chest, slicking his thighs. Agron can still feel the phantom press of Nasir’s body against his, his want, his love so fucking encompassing that Agron stands awake and empty. He’s still rock hard, reaching down to grip the side of his cot and lifting it, tossing it hard against the side of the tent. 

“What’s wrong?” Spartacus sits up in his own bed, blearily rubbing at one eye. He takes one look at his fuming and roaring king, cock leaking against his stomach but slowly softening, and rolls his eyes. 

“I want to go home. Right fucking now.” Agron’s voice is verging on screaming, and Spartacus, unfortunately, is tasked with calming the raging prince down. 

“We can’t go home yet, Agron. You know that. We need to fight the vampires.” Spartacus says slowly, reaching out to hand Agron his tunic. Not that Spartacus finds Agron’s naked form that strange or unbecoming, but Spartacus can only take so much of his cock (Spartacus will admit his surprise at the length of it hard later). 

“He was fucking there. I saw him. I felt him. I could fucking taste him, Spartacus,” Agron paces, tying the cloth around him absentmindedly. 

“I’m sure it’s part of the magic,” Spartacus soothes. “You said it was unpredictable sometimes.”

“No.” Agron turns quickly to look at Spartacus. “Something is wrong. I could sense it but I got…distracted.” Agron hesitates for modesty’s sake. “He’s upset.”

“You’re projecting.” Spartacus swings his legs over the side of his bed, resting his elbows on his knees, “Nasir is fine. He’s probably just sad and missing you. It’s barely been a day.”

“This fucking storm, the lightning. There were bruises around Nasir’s wrists. He was trying to tell me. The whole fucking place. Him wanting me there,” Agron rushes through, “It was everywhere and I just-I couldn’t think. I just needed him.”

Spartacus studies the man before him, really looks. Agron has a deep crease between his brows, powerful body glistening in the single candle in the tent. There is a gap in the doorway that flashes light when the storm allows it, looming and casting shadows across the thick cut of Agron’s chest, and Spartacus’ eyes widen when he sees the scratches. 

“You’re bleeding,” Spartacus comments, pointing down at the ten lines dragged from shoulder to ribs on Agron’s torso. 

Agron looks down at himself surprised, touching the marks gingerly. He hadn’t even noticed them stinging until Spartacus had commented on them. They’re fairly deep too, still sore and festering. 

“We can’t go home, Agron. We have to stay.” Spartacus tries to sooth the topic back. 

“No,” Agron catches the lightning's flash on his wedding band, a reminder of Nasir’s shining eyes and stained mouth, “No. We go to war. Now. Right fucking now.”

Spartacus tries to protest, he really does, but Agron lets out a deep growl in reply. It seems to echo even above the storm, a vicious sound that seeps deep into the bones and mud, cutting the thunder in half. When he opens his mouth, Agron’s roar reverberates around the air, cutting through the rain and sleet to stop the storm instantly. Raindrops hesitate in the air, floating there in their path, and Spartacus doesn’t even try. He doesn’t say a fucking word, instead, reaches for his sword on the floor, head bowed in submission. 

\- - - 

Sunlight burns into Nasir’s eyes as he kneels in front of Gerulf. Sedullus’ hand on his neck presses roughly against a bruise, still throbbing from last night. He hadn’t thought it would linger through the dream, but Nasir had woken to them. There were half a dozen on his neck, a cruel red and purple, enough that Nasir was forced to wrap a thin but deeply crimson scarf around his neck. It feels more like a collar now as Sedullus holds him down. 

“You used your magic.” Gerulf doesn’t accuse. He doesn’t question. He states it like a fact. “You endangered the life of your people and your king. You are a hazard and hold no more worth that of a rabid dog.”

Nasir flinches under the words, pulling the loose tunic around him. It covers the rest of the marks, from wrists to chest to waist. He is forced to raise his arm by Sedullus in the next moment and Nasir tries not to hiss at the pain that shoots across his back. 

“You broke the law, the very day I said it, and could have killed us all.” Gerulf continues, allowing or more turning a blind eye to Sedullus’ grip tightening on Nasir’s skin. 

“Unfortunately,” Gerulf’s voice is rough but there is a gleam there that leaves Nasir’s stomach twisting sharply, “since you are royalty, I cannot kill you without the consent of your husband. Since Agron is not here, I am forced to imprison you until his return where he will be the one to strike the blow.”

A thick shackle is placed around Nasir’s wrist, tight enough that Nasir knows it will bruise. It’s attached to a chain that is held tight in Sedullus’ grip, tugging on it sharply until Nasir topples to the side, catching himself on his hand, saving himself from hitting the ground. Sedullus’ delighted grin does not go unnoticed. 

“As of now, you are a prisoner. You are not to be with a guard at any time, and they must be only this length of chain away from you. Your guards will either be your assigned Castus or Sedullus himself,” Gerulf motions and Sedullus shows the length of chain to Nasir. It’s barely two feet long, enough space that Sedullus isn’t touching Nasir but close enough that he could shift slightly and be touching him. 

“You cannot speak in your native tongue. Your maid, wherever he’s gotten to, is removed from your side. You will go to the healing tent and home every day with no outside socializing with my people.” Gerulf continues, grin barely smothered around his words, “You also are to be submitted to a check each week for traces of magic upon your skin. It has been told to me that your people leave traces it on your body.”

“You mean-“ Nasir’s eyes grow huge, trying to recoil but Sedullus does not release the slack on the chain for him to do so. 

“I mean that you are now nothing but a kept pet,” Gerulf growls, “who will sit and stand and dance and fucking beg when I command you. And if I want to strip you naked and walk you through town, I will.”

Nasir considers begging, considers offering anything for Gerulf not to do this, but there is not hope. Gerulf has made up his mind. He’s fleshing out whatever plot he’s been working on, and Nasir wasn’t ready, he wasn’t smart enough to get a step ahead. He won’t let that happen again. 

Sedullus reluctantly hands the chain off to Castus when Gerulf commands it, and Nasir is forced to follow the pirate out into the sun. It’s like a surreal dream, how the world was so dark and storm so vicious last night, and now it seems the terror of it has moved onto the people and yet the sky is bright. Nasir moves blindly, still shocked at the cruel commands and the thick bondage around his wrist. He had hoped that the drunken king would have forgotten all of last night, but it doesn’t seem so. 

Castus doesn’t say a word to him, just leads him forward with a scowl and a rough hand. Nasir had hoped that their friendship would grow, something would blossom, but it seems that he’s just as resolved to hate Nasir as the rest of the men. It’s surprising then when Castus roughly shoves him inside the opening of a random storage tent, face pulling back into a mischievous grin. 

“You have five minutes,” he hisses, turning to slip back outside with a wink. 

Instantly, Duro and Pietros come out of the darkness, the darker man wrapping his arms around Nasir tightly. From the brief glance he got at them, Nasir can tell they’re exhausted. Tear drops scatter on Nasir’s shoulder as Pietros hugs him, sobbing against his side as if he’s to blame, as if Pietros has done anything fucking wrong. 

“We heard the rules, stayed outside of the tent,” Duro looks grim, shaking his head, “He’s a fucking monster. I tried to convince him, but it seems Sedullus now has his ear more than I do these days.”

“It’s okay,” Nasir soothes, gently pushing Pietros back from him to raise a weak smile, “but we have a problem.”

“This whole fucking place is a problem,” Pietros hisses bitterly, turning to kick a bag of grain. “We should have never stopped here.”

“No, let the past be the past. I am glad we are here, but” Nasir lowers his voice, “we have a bigger problem than Gerulf’s rage, especially if he is planning on having me searched for magic.”

“What is it? What’s wrong?” Duro steps closer, voice a hissed whisper at the desperation on Nasir’s face. The image of him on fire last night is forever branded into Duro’s eyelids. 

Slowly and carefully, Nasir reaches for the small, pearl buttons that run the length of his sleeveless tunic, slipping them open one by one. 

“It must have been the surge of magic last night. It’s the only excuse that I can think of. I don’t think it sped up the pregnancy, but-“ Nasir lets the cloth fall open, turning to the side. 

Where his once flat stomach rested is a small bump, stretching out his stomach in a sloping curve. If Duro hadn’t just been staring at this very same patch of skin yesterday, he probably would chalk it up to Nasir just eating too much, stomach extended. Yet, Nasir’s navel hoop stands out more and there is a soft curve around his hips that wasn’t there before, starting to hide the sharp cut of his bones. As it stands, Duro can instantly tell what it is, a small bump that contains his niece or nephew. 

“You uh, you didn’t look like that yesterday.” Duro hesitates to say. 

“I know that. I didn’t look like this until I woke up this morning,” Nasir cups the bump gently, caressing it with his fingertips, “We have no idea how fast this baby is going to grow.”

“What do you mean? You think you’re going to have the baby like a wolf? How long are wolf pregnancies?” Pietros turns his eyes up to Duro, expectant and wide eyed. 

“I don’t know. Like, two and a half months,” Duro shrugs, “but you’re already past that, aren’t you?”

“I’m nearly three,” Nasir whispers, buttoning back up his tunic, ignoring the fact he has to stretch to get the buttons to latch over his navel. 

“So we don’t have to worry about you dropping the little egg off anytime soon,” Duro smiles, “We’ll just get you baggy clothes and pray my father is just being an ass and won’t strip search you.”

“He’s not a bird-“ Pietros suddenly freezes, eyes going huge before he reaches up and kisses Duro roughly on the mouth. “You’re a fucking genius! Birds!”

Duro and Nasir share a look, confused, before turning back to the other man. Rocking on his heels, Pietros clasps his hands in front of him, delighted as if he’s discovered the secrets of the world. 

“What?” Duro finally caves, slightly still dazed by the kiss. 

“Barca! He left me the birds. I can send him a message and no one will expect. He’ll give it to Agron and we can bring him home that way.”

Pietros clasps Nasir’s face next, leaning down to press a quick kiss to his forehead before darting over to the door and out into the bright sunshine. Duro and Nasir don’t say anything for a moment, just stare at where the man once was before slowly turning to look at one another. Taking a deep breath, Duro lets out a long sign as he wraps his arm around Nasir’s shoulders. 

“Well, little brother, in the meantime, I suggest you start eating a lot. It’s the only cover we’re going to have.”

Nasir can do nothing but nod, helpfully picking an apple from a nearby pin and biting into it.


End file.
